Posts Tagged ‘sex writing’

When I was growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, I flew the bright yellow planes of Hughes Air West to a number of their destinations. To me, those planes were a sign of the times. Add to that the equally brightly arrayed stewardesses. There was a time that they wore go-go boots, right in the height of my teen-hormone years. Talk about your lasting impressions! The traveling salesman was a sign of those times too, and of course big IBM business computers were spreading all over the business world. Combining these elements into something sexy just seemed natural. Many of the details were culled from anecdotes I have heard along the way. I set out to write a story that spoke of that time, and hopefully give a unique perspective on The Mile High Club. And I had a great time doing it.

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

The force of a jet moving through the air near the speed of sound, and the close proximity of the passengers have to be key parts of it. The combination of the physical rush of the planes thrust and the requirements that the passengers remain sedentary. I suppose some of it relies upon exhibitionism and voyeurism too. Add to this the fact that most of the people you meet in a trip, you will never meet again — the power of anonymity — and it creates a fertile ground. For a brief time, we’re all captive in the belly of the plane, maybe we’re anxious as we are at the beginning of a vacation or a key business trip, on our way to a reunion or whatever. All of those stimuli have the potential to make a spicy stew. It kind of cooks itself!

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

Be observant, and open to opportunity, but learn how to be stealthy! It’s one thing to toy with exhibitionism and voyeurism, and quite another to be led away from the gate in cuffs. Unless, of course, that’s your thing… In that case, screw being stealthy!

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

I’m blissfully a one-woman-man, and she’s not a celeb yet, so any such assignation would have to be the realm of fantasy. But in that realm I’ll say Jill Clayburgh. I’ve had a hopeless crush on her since she danced around a New York apartment in her underwear in the movie An Unmarried Woman and when she delivered the lovely line “I give great phone” in Silver Streak, not a flying movie, but a close second, a train movie. I always take window seats, Jill, so please remember to take an aisle in first class, or a middle seat in coach (who am I kidding? Jill would never ride coach. )

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

I tend to like smaller airports, perhaps because there is less rush to them. Like smaller towns, people tend to be more open to casual conversation. By contrast, larger planes are better. Why? Opportunity! Larger planes have more places to secret away, and a larger number of people to get “lost among.” Larger numbers of restrooms means more opportunity to “linger.” In general, I find the sensations of flying sexy. I’m one who actually enjoys turbulence, and I really like the g-forces of take off and landing.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Step outside yourself, and observe what is around you. There is a microcosm in the fast travel world. From the brief contacts we make from flight to flight or waiting at the gate, to seeing reunions outside the security checkpoints, travel offers us an opportunity to see people through a certain lens. A woman once caught my eye on a flight years ago. This was before tattoos were in, and she was sitting an aisle up from me and she had this pretty rose tattoo on one heel and this grabbed me. Throughout the flight she read from three very contrasting books and magazines, and this brief flight gave me unusual images of what this woman might be, where she might be going. I almost always take a good book to read on a trip, but I usually spend more time watching people than reading.

What’s next for you?

I have recently finished writing a novel called Augsburg Diary that drawing from my experiences in the Army in the early 1980’s, when I was stationed at a Military Intelligence base in Germany. I am in the process of pursuing publication for this book. While I love short stories and will continue to write them, I’m increasingly my focus on longer works now.

Do you have anything else to add about The Mile High Club?

I love the writing to the specifications of anthologies. It challenges me to explore new areas I might not otherwise take on, left to my own devices. I found The Mile High Club a particularly fun challenge as the setting is very specific. But, for all the reasons I gave above, it is a fertile ground for sexy stories, and I’m glad I got an opportunity to play in that ground!

My story, “Wing Walker” was inspired by a friend from some years back whose boyfriend was a stunt pilot. He traveled to air shows around the UK and Europe in his biplane. At one point, he was looking for someone willing to train as a wing walker. I was very, very tempted despite the fact that I am an absolute chicken with heights. I went along to the airfield with them, and while it cemented that fact that my feet are better kept on the ground, it was an awesome thing to watch. And then I read Rachel’s call for submissions for The Mile High Club and I’m afraid I took sex ON a plane rather literally.

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

It’s a bold and brazen statement of your naughtiness. Pretty much everyone knows what you’re doing. After all, why else would two people willingly go into a cramped airplane toilet together? And half of the plane have probably been listening to your pleasure as they line up outside waiting for the lock to slide over to “vacant”. And however subtle you think you’re being with that carefully positioned blanket, you can bet the flight attendants have you pegged. You need to be bold and brassy about it, and let’s face it, not all of us have the guts for that. There’s no way to join the Mile High Club discreetly, not unless you’re Barack Obama in Air Force One with a whole spacious plane to romp in, and only the Secret Service looking discreetly out of the window. Hmmmm, now that’s an idea for a story…

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

Move to Denver? Somehow that mile-high city doesn’t count for this. So, wear a skirt. Smile sweetly when security pulls out your mini-vibe from your carry-on baggage. Select the two seats at the back of the airbus, so that you don’t have an inadvertent threesome with the person in the third seat. Wiggle your way onto Air Force One.

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

Sexy tennis players Rafael Nadal and Amélie Mauresmo come to mind. Can I have both of them? At once? And now I’ve got Air Force One into my head, I’ll add Barack and Michelle Obama.

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

Right now, I’m having major fantasies involving Air Force One and a certain president, but I have to say that normally planes don’t do much for me. That’s probably why I set my story “Wing Walker” ON a plane, out in the freedom of the cold open air, rather than in an air-conditioned tin can.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Assuming you’re traveling Cattle Class, and can’t sashay your way into an upgrade, my patented method for making plane journeys fly by, is white wine, loose clothing, no shoes, toothbrush and toothpaste for those long haul flights, and of course a good book. Personally, I love long haul flights, and consider them prime story-writing time. And the expression of the person in the next seat as they read what I’ve written over my shoulder? Priceless.

What’s next for you?

I’m eyeing Australia again, and expect to be living back there by the end of the year. Writing wise, right this second I have twitchy fingers to write about Air Force One. I’m also taking second (Third? Fourth?) looks at some unfinished stories that stalled for various reasons, and I’m working on a novel with bisexual themes. My website http://www.cheyenneblue.com has details.

“Oh?” he says, and his eyes flick over me dismissively, no doubt picturing me in thick overalls wielding an industrial hose of airplane deicer at DIA. “You don’t look the maintenance type.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I wear a catsuit, not a boilersuit, and I dance on the wing of the plane as it flies along.”

That always gets their attention, at the very least a double take, while they decide if I’m serious or not. And if they decide I am, then I have their interest for as long as I want it.

Wing walking goes something like this:

I dress warmly—a layer of wicking thermals because it’s colder than the moon out there, with the wind whipping away every thought of warmth; then the catsuit. It’s a patriotic red, white and blue, a line of stars down the thigh, diagonal stripes over the torso. Patriotism goes down well with the air-show crowds. I wear goggles against the wind, soft slippers on my feet so I don’t harm the fabric of the wing.

Bob is our pilot, Buttercup is our plane. Bob is sixty-eight and has a steady hand on the controls. Buttercup is also sixty-eight and she’s a Boeing Stearman biplane, a game old girl painted as sunny as her name. Bob and her, they have a long history together. I often think they’ll go together in a burst of flame on a hillside. I just hope I’m not on the wing at the time.

We take off from a back strip, away from the crowds. I’m already on the upper wing in my safety harness, securely fastened to the upright struts that protrude from the center of the plane’s structure. Surely you didn’t think I’d do this without a harness? Some people used to, but they tended to have short careers.

We circle the air show once, up high. We’ll talk a little on the radio. Bob worries how long he can keep doing this. The maintenance on the old girl gets harder every year. Then we get the signal to go and we come in fast and low. I’ll be in a pose: arm extended gracefully, my long hair streaming behind me like Boadicea the warrior queen. Or Xena the warrior princessæI guess more people have heard of her. One leg cocked up, I’ll hold the pose and wave to the crowd as Bob takes us up in a hard spiral. And for the next fifteen minutes or so, Bob will twirl with Buttercup, looping the loop, flying upside down, flipping her from side to side, always within sight of the crowds, of course. And me? I’ll be up there, posing, slow-motion dancing, sometimes doing a handstand, although Bob has to keep her totally steady for that one, so I only do that when he’s been dry for a few days. The wind pummels the breath from my body, and moving a limb is like pushing against cement. The roar of the air and the rumble and creak of the plane beneath my feet fill my head. There’s a crowd? I honestly couldn’t tell you. It’s just me and Buttercup and Bob, flying in our little space-time continuum.